Something Missing
by sweetsolitude137
Summary: The common cold, a memory, an accident, and revelations. Short one-shot. Post-war. H/Hr, OOC.


A/N: I hope you enjoy!

/

"I'm dying, I know it."

"If you're dying, then I'm the new seeker for the Chudley Cannons."

Hermione's comment gave Ron pause, breaking through his subdued, feverish state, even as he blared through his trillionth tissue of the day.

"What jersey number did you pick? You always liked thirty-one."

Hermione glared playfully at Ron as she magicked his snotty tissue into a bin that was precariously close to overflowing.

"But I must be, dying," Ron continued.

"You're not dying, Ron. It's just the common cold."

As often as the common cold plagued those in the Muggle World, it plagued witches and wizards equally so, as even the Wizarding World had yet to discover a proper cure.

"The uncommonly horrid cold, more like" Ron complained through a shiver, even though an afghan and one of Molly Weasley's knitted blankets were wrapped tightly around him.

"If you're dying, then I should stay. It'd be rude of me to miss your final breaths for tea at Harry's."

"Rude, or completely expected?" Ron joked, his smirk ending in a thunderous sneeze.

"With that attitude, you'll be lucky if your _mum_ shows up to your funeral." Hermione teased, lightly kissing the top of Ron's head as she turned on the television to a cooking channel. Even though the channel touched upon some of Ron's favorite topics- breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert- it usually put him to sleep in less than five minutes. Hermione could already see his eyes fluttering closed.

"Tell Harry- tell him he can have my deluminator… and my dress robes from fourth year," Ron mumbled, as sleep overtook his consciousness.

 _I wish it were that easy with Rose_ , Hermione thought of her daughter, who often greeted sleep reluctantly. The toddler had finally settled down for a nap about an hour ago, about the time when Ron had obliterated his billionth tissue.

Once upstairs, Hermione relished in the blissful quiet.

A window at the end of the hall had been left open, and a faint aroma of white lilacs, along with the small and distant sound of chirping birds, wafted to meet her.

Hermione closed her eyes, and debated whether or not she should stay, not because Ron needed her (he'd be out cold for a couple hours at least), and certainly not because she didn't want to see Harry, but because these calm, gentle days were rare as of late.

She allowed the light emanating through the window to wash over her, and breathed in a memory her subconscious held dear, a memory of a warm summer wind, whispered words, and a time when her heart was full.

/

/

Harry dove.

He reacted with more speed and urgency than he'd ever managed in any duel or Quidditch match.

He dove, unthinking and unyielding, his conscious mind shutting off to give more power to his body, with all the speed, agility, and strength he could muster- more than he ever imagined himself capable of.

Just as the ground rushed up to meet him, he reached out his arms, and they rolled, Rose safe in his arms, off of his broom into the tall grass and wildflowers.

He was vaguely conscious of Hermione screaming, but his mind wasn't processing it. He knew he was likely bruised and dirty, but he didn't feel it.

All he knew was hat he had her, Rose, bundled up in his arms. Safe.

When they stopped rolling, he could feel her little chest rising and falling. Breathing.

 _She's alive,_ Harry thought to himself, as some form of prayer of thanks.

Rose's cheeks were flushed, and she was breathing steadily.

Harry could feel Hermione nearing, he could feel her quick footsteps echo through the ground.

When Hermione reached them, gasping for air, she crouched over him.

Harry was still on the ground, half of his body still huddled over Rose, as if he were still protecting her from imminent harm.

"Rose! Harry! Is she okay? You're okay! She's okay…" Hermione was sobbing as she looked Harry and Rose over very carefully.

She did not pry Rose from Harry's arms. She knew her daughter was safe with Harry.

Hermione looked Harry and Rose over carefully, scanning the pair with her wand.

"Only- only bruises, Harry- both of you," Hermione panted, her sobs fading.

Harry realized he must have been giving her a look that asked 'How bad is it?' Hermione always knew how to read his expressions.

Harry looked down at Rose, so small in his arms. She passed out during her accidental descent, but she was beginning to regain consciousness. Harry felt as though he was beginning to regain his own consciousness as well.

 _Has Rose's hair always been this dark_? Harry wondered, noticing the girl's wavy hair sprawled about the grass. Rose's hair was usually more light brown, like her mother's.

 _Her freckles… where are they_?

"I- I think she is covered in dust," was all Harry could muster to Hermione, his voice hoarse, thinking perhaps dust and dirt covered her facial features.

He noticed Hermione was still breathing heavily, tears slowly falling from her eyes. She was focused intently on her wand scan of her daughter, and she didn't seem to have heard him.

Harry examined Rose's little face once more, to see if maybe he could move her now, and was surprised to suddenly find his own green eyes staring up at him.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, alarmed once more. "There- there is something wrong with Rose!"

Rose began to stir, she was coming to.

Hermione seemed to finally hear Harry, and became panicked herself. "Is she okay!? What is it?"

" _Look_ at her Hermione! It's- it's not her."

Hermione looked, and for a moment, her face remained unchanged. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened, and her panic turned to shock. Hermione said nothing.

"Mummy?" Rose said.

Hermione remained, unmoving. Harry sat himself and Rose up.

"Hermione? What's wrong with her? Why does she look different?" Harry whispered.

Sensing that something was wrong, Rose started to cry. Harry noticed that her tears didn't leave trails down her face. There was no dust covering her freckles, after all. Rose _had_ no freckles.

"She- she…" Hermione began.

Rose ambled her way over to Hermione, through a patch of white and yellow daisies. Hermione reached out to her daughter, then cradled Rose in her arms, patting her dark brown waves.

"Hermione?" Harry asked again.

Something was wrong. _What am I missing?_

Hermione looked up to meet Harry's gaze, new tears forming in her eyes.

"Oh, Harry… Rose, she… she has your mother's eyes."

/


End file.
